


Things Owed - Fire and Water

by Akamaimom



Series: Things Owed [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Romance, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the "Things Owed" series. A group of one-shot episode tags. Jack and Sam have sacrificed a lot for each other over the years. Neither of them like the idea of being in debt to the other. Sam/Jack Ship. </p><p>I'm regrouping these into a series rather than a story with chapters, since they each read as "complete" even though they are inter-related stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Owed - Fire and Water

Things Owed

Fire and Water

 

SG-11 just needed to shut up already.

Their briefing had gone way past its expiration date, and Jack's already quirky patience had long since run its course.

He sat in the chair across from the General's desk, slumped, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded over his chest. Another glance at the clock on the wall told him he'd been waiting for forty-five minutes. 

Waiting was a tricky thing. He'd only gotten semi-accustomed to it over the years. There were varying degrees of the process. Waiting a few minutes at a traffic light was at the painless end of the spectrum. Waiting for the 'Gate to open while a gaggle of hostile Jaffa fired staff weapons at you was a bit more of a problem. Waiting to speak to--and apologize to--your Commanding Officer--well, that constituted complete and utter torture. 

He still didn't exactly remember the sequence of events. They'd 'Gated to the beachy planet with the lava cones everywhere, where they'd taken soil samples and checked out the joint. Gill-Faced Guy had arrived for a meet-and-greet, and that's where things got fuzzy. Afterwards, there had been a plethora of questions, tests, and doubts--and then the memorial service and wake.

That's where things had gone completely nuts.

Jack had lost people before--but losing Daniel had thrown him. Maybe it was the fact that his brain and his gut were telling him two diametrically opposing things, or maybe it was just that they'd been working too hard for too long, with the weight of the galaxy on their collective shoulders. Maybe he'd just begun to admit to himself that Daniel was a friend, only to have that friend horrifically immolated in front of him. That kind of thing tended to futz with your brain.

Brains that had already, apparently, been futzed with. Gill-Faced Guy had really done a number on their collective craniums.

Which accounted for the visions of bubbles and fire, without question. But Jack's actions--well, those he was just owning up to. There were truly no excuses for what he'd done. He hadn't been on his game, and had lost, what? Perspective? Reality? Something unnamed and undefined. And he'd taken it out on the General's car.

Damn his luck. And his hockey stick.

"Well done, team." The General opened the briefing room door, standing back as SG-11 approached. "I expect to see a full report on my desk by Tuesday."

"You'll have it Monday, Sir." Major Cotter raised his thick file folder in a quasi-salute. "The mission was an overwhelming success, and I have confidence that things will work out."

"From your mouth to God's ears, Major." The General watched them go, then turned to where O'Neill still slumped in his chair. "Jack. I'm surprised to see you here."

Sighing deeply, the Colonel stood. "I'm kind of surprised to be here, General."

"I thought that I'd made my orders clear. You and the rest of your team needed some rest."

"We do." He nodded, then splayed a palm towards his CO. "And we are. Resting. At least, I am. I've been sitting on my generous rear and watching baseball all day long. Drank a little beer. Ordered a pizza. Scratched a little. Took a nap."

"Sounds like a wonderful day." Hammond moved past him, into his office, rounding his desk and standing behind his leather chair. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I--uh--have some business with you, actually." Jack stepped aside to allow the General into his office, and then turned towards the desk. He ran his tongue along the inside seam of his lips before dragging in a breath. "It seems I owe you some money."

Hammond smiled. "For the window?"

"And the dent."

"That's already been taken care of." The General pulled his chair out and sat, scooching around a bit until he was comfy. "I haven't given it a moment's thought for a while, now."

"Taken care of?"

"Paid in full. My car is as good as new."

Jack frowned. "No offense, Sir, but that car wasn't much good--even when it was new."

Hammond smiled, his shoulders given a little half-lurch. "Well, it's good enough for an old grandpa General. Might not be fancy, but she's paid for and gets me around."

"Ah, well." O'Neill grudgingly nodded. "That's what's important, anyway, right?"

"I would say so." Leaning forward, the older officer folded his hands together. "And, like I said before, it's as good as new."

Jack tilted a look at his CO. "I didn't make any arrangements. I didn't call anyone--"

"Captain Carter approached me after the wake. She said that she'd be able to get the necessary repairs done quickly. I figured that you'd asked her to take care of it for you."

"Hm." The Colonel's lips drew thin. "No. No I did not ask that of her."

Hammond looked down at his hands for a beat before raising his gaze back up to Jack. "I think she was worried about you. You weren't quite yourself that day, if you recall."

Grudgingly, O'Neill had to agree. He hadn't been himself that day--nor had he been himself until they'd returned to that hell of a beach and brought his friend home. "Yes, Sir. I do."

"But all's well that end's well, and no hard feelings, and all that." The General offered a smile. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to prepare for a phone conference with a Senate commission."

Dismissed. But still, Jack hesitated. Sighing, he squared his shoulders, his brows drawn low over his eyes. "The car and the dent and all. She really did that?"

"She did." Hammond touched the handset of his phone. "She's quite a young lady, and a hell of an officer."

O'Neill suppressed the smile that threatened, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling something else. Pride? It's not like he had anything to do with Carter being who she was. But still, there it was. A sense that she was, in some minute way, a part of who he was slowly becoming. "Yes. That she is."

 

\-----OOOOOOOO-----

 

"Colonel O'Neill." 

Jack turned to see Teal'c in the hallway behind him. The Jaffa's healthy stride ate up the yards between them. 

"Teal'c." He stopped, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "What'cha doing?"

"I have been participating in calisthenics, O'Neill." He indicated his gray sweat pants and tank top with a pass of his large hand. "As well as strengthening my body with weight-bearing exercise."

"So, what are you bench-pressing these days? A hundred pounds? Two?"

"I completed one hundred repetitions at four hundred and ninety pounds." He looked entirely too impressed with himself. "Tomorrow I shall attempt five hundred."

"Is that some kind of Jaffa record?"

Often, the eyebrow conveyed more than the Jaffa's facial expression, and this time was no exception. "I do not know. We do not have exercise equipment such as this on Chulak."

"Yeah, you guys probably just dead-lift trees. Or stacks of the bodies of your enemy."

Teal'c had recently started delving into the joys of sarcasm. "We find it most beneficial to lift small planetoids."

O'Neill grinned. "Funny."

"Indeed."

They'd walked towards the elevator shaft, and Teal'c pressed the button with the pad of his thumb. "I am making my way upstairs towards my quarters to shower. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Elevator, yes." O'Neill glanced up to see that the carriage had almost reached their floor. "Shower, no."

The doors slid upon with a wobbly "ding", and Teal'c took a long stride through the doors into the tiny gray room. "Was there somewhere specific you were heading, O'Neill?"

"Not really. I was actually kind of looking for you." The Colonel followed his teammate into the elevator.

Teal'c had already pivoted to face the doors. "Then how fortuitous that you have found me."

"Yep." O'Neill watched as the doors lurched to a close. "I'm just all kinds of lucky."

"And for what purpose am I needed?" 

"I actually had a question about the wake."

"The unnecessary one which you hosted in honor of Daniel Jackson who was not, in fact, dead?"

"That one."

"What information do you require from me?"

The numbers on the display above the doors blinked as they changed. "Well, I was a little out of it."

"You had been consuming beer. I thought perhaps you had overindulged."

"No--it was more than that. Nem--that Gill-Faced alien guy--messed around with our brains and I was confused. Things just hit the wall that day."

"And for this reason you attacked General Hammond's vehicle with your hockey accoutrement and then disappeared?"

"Disappeared?"

"I watched as you walked around the side of your home and then nobody saw you again until a day later, when you attended the meeting at Stargate Command."

With a little jolt, the elevator stopped, and O'Neill found himself scowling at the doors in silence. He didn't remember leaving the party. He figured he might have gotten a little plastered towards the end of it, because when he'd woken up, it was dark, and he was slumped against the wall on the upstairs deck next to his telescope.

"Captain Carter took charge of the event when it was realized that you'd gone. She made sure that there was enough food and drink and then bid farewell to the guests." Teal'c's shoulder brushed O'Neill's as he stepped out of the elevator. "It was understood by the assembled group that you had been called away on SGC business."

As the doors started to closed again, Jack reached out and held them open with a splayed palm on the door frame. "Not that I'd gone completely off my gourd and had run away like an idiot?"

"There was no mention of gourds nor idiots. She asked for my help in removing the refuse from the premises and was occupied with cleaning the kitchen when Sergeant Siler offered to drive me back to Cheyenne Mountain."

Ah--things were finally starting to make sense. He'd descended from the deck and entered the house expecting to find a house mid-shambles, only to discover that it was perfectly clean--neat as a pin. Fridge, cupboards, living room, outside patio--hell, even the grill had been scrubbed clean. The only sign that the wake had taken place at all were the tidy packages of left-overs in the refrigerator. 

"Was something amiss in your home, Colonel O'Neill?"

"No." He shook his head, then had to stiff-arm the elevator doors again. "No. It was perfect. Everything was perfect."

"Captain Carter wished to make your absence as unnoticed as possible, O'Neill."

"Apparently, she succeeded." 

Teal'c's lips curled upward--he was working on his smiling technique. "Indeed, she did."

"Okay, then." Jack nodded. "Well. Go. Shower. I'll see you in the morning."

The golden tattoo glinted again as Teal'c dipped his chin in his customary bow. "I find myself most relieved that Daniel Jackson is alive and well and has rejoined us in the fight against the Goa'uld."

O'Neill studied his friend's face for a long moment, then, with a sharp sigh, released his hold on the elevator doors. He waited until the last possible second before answering. "Me too, T."

 

\-----OOOOOOO-----

 

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, but after they did, he spotted her immediately.

She was the only woman at the bar. Her hair, more than anything else, though, had given her away. He'd found lately that he could pinpoint it in a crowd. It drew him like a shiny, tousled beacon even through the dark, musty dank of the establishment. Jack stopped halfway across the room, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he considered his next move.

He hadn't meant to end up here, had he? Hadn't really been looking for her, right? Jack wasn't certain he really wanted an answer to either of those questions. Admitting anything of the sort would mean things that he refused to put words to. It would be easier if he'd just have ended up here. Found her by accident. Coincidence. Kismet. Karma. Whatever the hell any of those things were. 

Of course, it would be easier to explain this away if this bar were anywhere near his own neighborhood, but--yeah. No luck there, either.

He'd left Cheyenne Mountain over an hour ago, and had been aimlessly meandering his way homeward ever since. If he really were to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he really hadn't wanted to go home. The empty there had been deafening, lately--as if the silence were screaming at him. It made relaxation a little fleeting, and sleep had become--difficult.

It was mid-afternoon; the traffic wasn't horrific yet, and he'd ended up wandering further than he'd intended to. It had been a complete surprise to discover he'd gotten himself to her side of town, hadn't it? So, aiming his big truck into her picturesque little neighborhood just seemed more friendly than anything else. Getting to know you. Teammate bonding. He'd driven by her house--he'd even stopped and stared at it for a while--but it had only gazed back at him with dark, lifeless windows. She hadn't been home.

How he'd known that just by staring at her house, he couldn't tell. He'd developed some kind of sixth sense about Sam Carter lately. No different, really, than he had with others of his past teams. It's just that this particular awareness extended past mission space-time and seemed to be on constant full-alert.

Maybe it was because she was the first woman he'd had on a permanent team? Or perhaps it was her youthful enthusiasm. Or the way she peered at him from under the ridiculous helmets she wore, something like a blue-eyed turtle who was too smart for her own good. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd become the "big sister" of the group--taking care of things that nobody else bothered to think about. Like the individually wrapped packets of Oreos she'd produced out of her pack back on P69-whatever that time when the dinner they'd been invited to had been accompanied by actual dirt. Or the extra socks she kept stashed in the bottom of her pack because he invariably stepped in something disgusting while off-world. Or the Kleenex she kept in resealable baggies because Daniel always just shoved some tissues in his pocket and they invariably got ruined by the lightest sprinkle. 

Whatever it was, she'd gotten annoyingly--or was it wonderfully?--under his skin. 

Jack took a step to the side as a group of guys headed past him towards the exit. His hip bumped up against a pool table and he looked over to see if he'd upset a game, but only a few balls littered the felt, and nobody stood around glaring at him, so he figured he was good to go. He lingered, positioning himself to one side of a beam and propping himself against the scuffed wood of the table. 

"She never talks to anyone."

Jack craned his head to look over his left shoulder. A tall guy stood there--dirty blond hair and some powerful chin stubble. The pool cue in his hand had been recently chalked. He'd apparently been playing at the table alone. 

"Never talks, huh?"

"To anyone." The guy tilted the end of his cue towards Carter in a move that reminded O'Neill of Teal'c and his staff weapon. "She comes in every once in a while, sits in that seat, and has a Diet Coke. Doesn't even eat the peanuts. Just the soda. Then she leaves."

"Maybe she just wants some privacy."

"Stupid place to come for privacy, if you ask me." Five O'clock Shadow shrugged. "Hot chick like that oughta give a guy a break once in a while."

"Hot chick, huh?"

"With a tidy little a--"

"Watch it." Jack squelched his new friend with his best 'colonel' look. "Have some respect."

"Oh--we all respect her. Guy got a little too close one time and she took him out with the sexiest right hook. She earned her stripes on that one."

"Stripes?" 

"Military term." Stubble Guy ducked his chin in a sage gesture, then raised his hand, his fingers forming a frame on his sleeve just below his shoulder. "Sergeants wear these stripes on their uniforms."

"Yeah--" Jack nodded. "I've heard of that."

"So, after that, nobody has bugged her."

"Smart crowd."

The pool cue dipped again towards the blond hair at the bar. "Anyway, friend. If you're into her, good luck. But I've warned you. You probably won't get too far."

Passing Stubble Guy what he hoped was a brotherly smirk, O'Neill pushed away from the pool table and headed towards the bar. 

She was staring at her drink, working on framing it between her hands, which were splayed on the counter in front of her. She'd neatened up the area around her--squaring up her coaster with her napkin--a move that was so "Carter" that Jack cracked a smile. Sliding in between her seat and the one next to hers, he leaned one elbow on the bar. 

"Hey, Captain."

She looked up, her eyes flying wide in recognition. "Sir. What are you doing here?"

"I was driving around and saw your Volvo in the parking lot."

"How'd you know it was mine?"

"I’m Special Forces, Captain. I’m just that good."

She mouthed a silent 'Oh'.

He took that for what it was worth. Not quite an indication she believed him, and certainly not an answer to her original question, but enough for now. "Anyhow, I was out and about, saw your car and decided to come in and see what you were doing tonight."

"Well, nothing, really, Sir." She reached out with her left hand and cupped her glass of soda as if it were her anchor. "I just wanted to grab a drink before heading home. It's been that kind of a week."

"A drink?" His voice held a hint of sarcasm. "Usually, when someone grabs a 'drink' before heading home, a principal ingredient of that beverage is something with more oomph than caffeine."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Actually, Sir, I'm not much of a drinker."

"Which would be obvious to anyone who has seen you swill moonshine with the Abydonians."

"Sir." Her 'Big Sister' tone crept into her voice. "Should we really be--"

"Oh, C'mon, Captain." He jerked his ear towards the milling throng around them. "Who's listening? And besides. Grizzly Adams back there issued me something of a challenge to get past the introductory stage with you."

Carter peered around the Colonel's arm, then straightened with a sigh. "Yeah. I know him. He's harmless. A little pushy, but harmless."

"A lot obnoxious?"

She grinned outright, then swiveled so that she fully faced him. "Something like that."

"Anyhoo." Jack relaxed a little, leaning more heavily onto the elbow he'd perched on the bar. It was easy to talk to her this way--too easy, if truth be told. He'd been surrounding himself with the whole team lately rather than being alone with anyone in particular--not even realizing he was doing it. And he couldn't have iterated why he'd been doing it if he tried. With a jolt, he realized that it was this--this more-than-simple-awareness--that surged through him at her nearness that was making those decisions for him. It was self-preservation. Even if she was too young and eager. Even if he was old and edging ever-nearer to the 'decrepit' stage. Or perhaps because of those two facts. It wasn't something he was willing to analyze, anyway. Because there was nothing there, right? What was there to think about? "So, are you committed to this place, or do you want to go have some real fun?"

She actually considered her answer, a fact that amused Jack as much as it confused him. They were friends, right? Teammates. What was there to think about? 

"What did you have in mind?"

He leaned in a little closer. "Well, since I owe you one, I thought I'd take you someplace where we could blow off some steam."

Her brows drew down over those luminous eyes. "You owe me one?"

"C'mon, Captain." His own eyes issued a challenge. "What do you say?"

Her brain worked furiously for a moment before a single dimple appeared in her right cheek. This time, the question felt different. "What did you have in mind?"

 

\-----OOOOOOOO-----

 

It was deserted--not surprising for after dark on a weeknight.

She'd followed him from the bar, and parked next to his truck on the gravel lot next to the field. He'd reached into the bed of his Superduty and pulled out a long canvas sack as she'd locked her Volvo.

"You've got a headlight out."

"Do I?" She glanced over her shoulder at her car, then offered a half-hearted shrug. "Something's always going wrong with that thing. I should probably trade it in and get something newer. Especially if I'm not going to be on Earth much."

"It's a headlight. Not the head gasket." He gave the Volvo a good look-over. "It's a beautiful car."

"It is." Carter nodded, following his gaze to her car. "It's just like the one my mom had."

Ah. "Then keep it. Find something else for everyday." 

"Mmm." Non-committal, Sam's answer was vague at best. Something passed through her expression, something akin to indecision mixed with a healthy dose of nostalgia. She turned her attention back to her CO. "So, why are we here?"

"Fun." O'Neill lifted the bag in the direction of the field adjacent to the lot where they'd parked. "I owe you some fun." 

She studied him for a long, long beat, then blinked. Deliberately. "Okay."

Jack decided not to try to interpret that. Instead, he started walking towards the field. "C'mon, Carter. Let's go whack something besides Jaffa." 

It was a community soccer pitch, open to the public and lit until closing by a few underwhelming banks of tall stadium lights. Far to the south of the pitch, a grouping of basketball courts boasted their own sets of overheads, currently illuminating dozens of people milling around the baskets, both playing and merely observing. Every once in a while, when the wind blew right, their voices carried across the park towards the soccer field. To the east, a pair of fenced baseball diamonds completed an awkward triangle with the other two sports arenas, and directly in the center of them all sat a well-worn playground. Dark, deserted, the jungle gym and other apparatus sat lifeless except for the pair of swings lazily dancing in the evening breeze. 

Recent rains had stepped in where the lack of municipal funding for decent irrigation had failed, and the grass that stretched from goal to goal--while dry--lay green and sweet and lithe. O'Neill walked across the field towards the closest goal, his shoes making deep indentations in the fecund turf. He could hear Carter walking just behind him, her strides as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Just inside the penalty area, Jack stopped. Hefting the gear bag off his shoulder, he eased it to the ground and then knelt to pull the zipper wide. Reaching in, he pulled out a long, curved implement and a small rubber ball. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he looked up from his crouched position to see Carter standing a few feet away, a quizzical frown on her face. 

"Have you ever played hockey?"

"Yeah. Once. Maybe twice." Sam had pulled her denim jacket on against the chill that had come with the now-set sun. "My brother played a little when we were stationed at Edwards in Palmdale. My dad used to help--you know, give him pointers on swinging the stick and stuff."

"And did it?" Jack handed her a stick and a ball, and then chose another one out of the bag. As he stood, he grabbed a few more rubber balls. "Help, I mean."

She hefted the hockey stick, judging its balance. "Um--no. My dad's a decent General, but not-so-great at sports."

"And you?" Jack watched as Carter took an experimental swipe with the hockey stick across the grass. "Were you into sports?"

"Not really." Sam shook her head, the iffy light from the stadium towers catching in the gold of her hair. "My mom wanted me to be a ballerina, so I danced for a while. After she died, my dad didn't really have the time to take me to rehearsals and private lessons anymore, so--"

"So, the dancing stopped."

Her nod carried a taste of sadness. "A lot of things stopped after my mom died. But hey. What do you say about dwelling?"

"That you shouldn't." 

"And what was it that you've been saying about fun?"

"That I owed you some."

She quirked a brow at him and made a little motion towards the goal with her hockey stick. "So, show me some fun."

Jack took a few steps towards the penalty box arc, then dropped his ball into the center of it. "Hockey is, by definition, the most perfect game on Earth."

"Okay." She didn't sound convinced. She didn't sound unconvinced, either. She sounded like she was humoring him, but that was acceptable. 

"The beauty of it is, if you don't have ice, you can play on the street, or the dirt, or in grass."

"Gotcha."

"And you don't have to use a puck, because the fun of hockey is just in hitting stuff."

"So, it's an aggression thing."

He felt a smile. "Basically." He stood to one side of ball. "There are all kinds of rules to the actual game, but when I need to just hit something, I like to come out here and hit the ball into the goal." He aligned himself and staged his grip. Drawing back his arms, he lobbed the ball directly into the net with a satisfying "thwack!"

She looked moderately impressed. "So, you just hit the crap out of it."

"Basically. There is a little finesse to it if you're actually in game-play." O'Neill gestured with the end of his stick at the still-wavering goal net. "If you're just out here to hit stuff, then you go at it hard and have fun."

Sam stepped forward, waiting as he moved aside before plunking her ball in the dent his had so recently vacated. She squared up her stance, taking a few practice swings with her stick before settling onto her heels. The dimples in her cheeks deepened as she drew her lips into a determined line. "Here goes."

She hauled back on her stick and hacked at the ball, missing by a good inch and whiffing it entirely. Her entire body turned with the force of her swing, and she stumbled forwards a few steps, tried to catch her balance with a solid stride, and ended up tripping on the ball and landing flat on her face in the deep turf. 

He tried not to smile. Then he just went ahead and did it, anyway. "Okay--so I lied."

She rolled over, flopping dramatically. "Let me guess. There's one rule to this?"

"Just the one." A few strides had him at her side. Jack crouched down at her side. "Don't fall down."

Sam glared up at him. "Well, you could have told me that sooner, Sir."

"I'll make sure to put it in the report." He watched as she raked her fingers through her mussed hair. "With bullet points."

"Bullet points." She looked up at him, an odd smile gracing her features. "That's funny."

In the meager light, her eyes seemed to shine even brighter, and color stained her cheeks. Jack couldn't tell if that was from embarrassment or exhilaration, a fact that intrigued him. Off-world, she would have popped right back up, ready to go again, but here, on Earth, without anyone--or anything--chasing them, she seemed happy to simply lie in the grass and take a breather. Every muscle in O'Neill's body wanted to lie down next to her in the grass and breathe along. 

There was that danger thing, again.

Jack ducked his chin, feeling his humor die. “So, you want to try again?”

“What, and ruin my perfect record?” She half-heartedly felt around with one hand for her stick, then gave up and put the hand behind her head, instead. "Sir?"

He stood, ostensibly to retrieve her lost hockey stick. "Yeah, Carter?"

"You said earlier that you owed me one." 

"What about it?"

"What did you mean by that?"

The wood and tape of the stick felt alien in his hand--more so than a staff weapon would have. He ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of a piece of loose taping. It was a talisman, of sorts, something to bring him back to the reality of the present. "Well, there's the General's car, for one."

"The window?" 

Jack pretended an intense interest in trying to rectify the sagging tape. He glanced at her before he formed a reply. "He told me that you'd gotten it fixed."

"It was really no big deal. I have a friend who has a body shop. He owed me for helping him switch out a tricky alternator."

"I guess he goes by your code of ethics?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes narrowed. 

His eyes flickered over her just long enough to be sure she understood him. "You don't like owing people."

"I guess." She moved her shoulders in what might have been a shrug. "He's a good guy. Solid, you know?"

O'Neill knew. He rested the curved end of the stick on one of his feet. "And the wake thing? The cleaning and the hostessing?"

"Hostessing?" That grin resurfaced, as Sam bent her knees, bring her heels in towards her body. "You're making me sound like a sorority chick named 'Tiffani'."

Tilting his toe upward, Jack balanced the stick on the leather of his shoe. "You know what I mean."

He pretended not to notice that she was studying him, that her humor had morphed into a sudden, serious scrutiny. He tried not to imagine what she must be thinking of him--of her CO who couldn't even make it through a simple get-together without losing his mind and taking it out on an innocent Buick. 

Tried not interpret why it mattered what she was thinking. 

Damn. And damn again. 

Sam brought herself up to a sitting position, her legs crossed beneath her. "It wasn't a big deal, Sir."

The hockey stick suddenly felt like an anvil on his toe. "To me, it was."

The basketball crowd had gotten louder, and somebody had added a boom box to the mix. The breeze had picked up enough that more of the commotion carried through the night air across the park, but Sam's attention didn't waver from him, a fact that made the Colonel even more uncomfortable. She simply sat there, in the grass, gazing up at him with the patience of the divine. 

"When Daniel died."

"But he really hadn't."

"Yeah--I know." Jack held up a palm, his fingers wide, when he saw she was going to interrupt him again. "Hold on. When we thought he was, and we had that wake thing."

"What about it?"

"I kind of--bailed." He finished lamely, his voice cracking like a middle-schooler's. "I don't know what was wrong. It was just--I couldn't--"

"You were distraught over losing a friend, Sir. You've known Daniel the longest. Your grief was stronger than the rest of ours."

He snorted. "It was a little more than that. But regardless, I went a little wacko and beat the crap out of Hammond's car, and then disappeared."

"It was understandable, Sir."

"It was childish. And stupid."

"Sir." 

That admonition again. When had that word started sounding like something else?

"And then I find out that you'd cleaned up my mess. Fixed what I'd screwed up." Jack's tongue passed along the inner crease of his lips. "I owe you something."

With the grace he'd come to expect of her, Sam stood, brushing loose grass of her pants. She neared him, then stopped a breath away, staring downward at the hockey stick still perched on his toe. "Sir, you truly don't owe me anything. You were there when I needed you through this whole thing. You helped me more than I helped you."

Jack's brows lowered at his frown. "What are you talking about?"

"After the hypnosis thing." Her face tilted up towards him. "It was horrific to be confronted by all those images again. I panicked and could feel myself unraveling. It wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. Like I was completely helpless and out of control."

"And you don't like losing control."

"Not so much." Shaking her head, Sam offered a lady-like grunt. "No."

Finally, O'Neill looked at her directly, felt her searching him, her entire attention on him. Recognizing that the awareness--the intrigue--went both ways felt freeing, somehow. "I understand that."

"I know." Simple, her nod was straightforward. Her hand came up to rest just below his on the hockey stick. "And you were there for me. You--brought me back."

"It was nothing." Which was a blatant lie. He hadn't been able to help himself. He'd held her. He’d needed to protect her in whatever way he could. That other people were watching had been a complete non-issue. She'd been so distraught, so damned terrified--he'd been able to feel her frantic heart beat as she'd tried to bury herself in him. It had been beyond natural to hold her, to comfort her. Her body had trembled beneath his hands, even as she'd tucked her face into his throat, her breath hot and quick against his skin. She'd fit there perfectly. Their bodies like two halves of the same dysfunctional coin.

He could still feel her there. Still feel her heat. Like he could feel her hand now, her fingers teasing at the loose tape on the hockey stick, tingling against his thumb. "It might not have seemed like anything to you, but it was important to me."

"Same here." Jack's eyes watched her hand, as she tried to smooth the tape back into place. "About the wake and everything else."

"Maybe it's just what friends do." She peered up at him from beneath her messy bangs. "Help each other out when the crap hits the fan?"

Something tightened inside him. He dragged in a long sigh, trying to ease whatever had knotted. He felt constricted--as if reality had closed something ephemeral within a cage. "Friends."

"Yeah." Her fingers stalled on the stick, then brushed one more time over the action-roughened wood and fraying tape. "Friends."

The lights overhead offered little more light than the stars, and the sounds from the basketball courts had once again faded as the wind had shifted towards the west. The air around them felt close, and dark, and buffeting. Intimate. Still focused on the hockey stick, Jack tightened his own fingers around the squared shaft, even as Carter's fingers stopped fidgeting, making one final swipe before dropping completely away. 

It felt like a loss, somehow, even when he'd never had anything to claim as his own in the first place.

"So." The Captain took a step backwards, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Maybe I'm not so great at the hockey thing."

"It was your first time." He turned away from her, towards the gear bag lying behind him on the grass. Bending, he stowed her hockey stick and the ball he still held in his hand. When he looked up again, she stood next to him, with the ball she'd retrieved from the goal and the other stick. "You'll improve."

"I'm thinking it might not be my sport."

He zipped the now-full bag back up, throwing the straps over his shoulder as he stood. "Oh?"

"I mean, I failed pretty spectacularly, didn't I?" She followed easily when he set back across the grass towards the parking area. "Face planting and all."

"You're lucky that you weren't on the ice."

"I'd probably have broken something."

Grass made way for dirt, and then the cheap gravel of the parking area. O'Neill hefted the bag back into the bed of his Superduty as Carter stopped near the tailgate, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her denim jacket. 

"Wouldn't have been too bad." Levity--Jack needed some levity. "Your nose. Maybe lost a few teeth."

"Hey--that doesn't sound too terrible."

Pivoting, O'Neill faced her. "A veritable cake walk."

Sam grinned, a little wistful smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Anyway, I won't be the next Gretsky."

"Maybe not." Awkwardness. Jack scuffed at the gravel with his shoe. "I'm sorry about wasting your night--this was a stupid idea."

"No." Sam reached out and touched his arm. "No. It was really nice of you think about me, Colonel. It's always so hard to figure out where people are in a group--if that makes any sense. This whole situation actually made me feel like I was part of something more than just a team. Like--I don't know--a family or something."

"A family. And I'm, what? The Crazy Uncle?"

She laughed outright at that. "No. Of course not. No."

"Senile grandpa."

"Sir." 

"Well, whatever. As long as I'm invited to Thanksgiving, I won't complain."

"Always." She bit her lip. "You're always welcome. I'll make sure there's plenty of pie and everything."

Of course she'd take care of everything. Just like the socks and the Kleenex and the snacks. Just like the window and the dent and the left-overs. Just like she'd volunteered to undergo the hypnosis thing and had tried to make Gill-face Guy understand that SG-1 only wanted to be friends.

Just like she stood in front of him now, making him feel as if his debt to her had been paid even when his ledger had only gotten longer. 

"At least let me pay for the window."

"Sir, really. There's nothing to pay. I pulled it from a junker."

Of course she had. O'Neill sighed. "Okay, then. I guess we're good." 

"Yeah." Carter took a step backwards, and then another. "See you tomorrow?"

"Bright and early."

"Well, early at least." She tilted her head to one side with a plaintive smile. Her hand rose in a little wave. "See you later, Sir."

"G'night, Sam."

With quick, efficient steps, she rounded the front of the Volvo and slipped inside. It only took a moment for the engine to purr to life and another for her to back out of the parking lot and make her way towards the highway.

Alone again. 

Jack watched as the Volvo glided into the night, staring into the darkness long after he'd lost sight of her tail lights. He leaned back against the gate of his truck, heaving a deep sigh. It was late, but he couldn't go home--had no desire to go back to his house where the silence loomed. Pushing away from the truck, he meandered back towards the soccer field. Back across the park and towards the goal. Back to the deep, lush grass. Back to the penalty box, where he could still see the deep indentation of where she'd lain laughing, easy, and relaxed. 

The crowds on the basketball courts had dispersed, and the breeze no longer carried their noise across the park. As he stood there, a tight clicking noise echoed through the air, and the lights suddenly blinked off, shuttering the entire park in darkness. A quick glance around told him he was completely alone. 

Far, far in the distance, tiny pinpricks of light cut through the night--houses, and cars, and streetlights--but the stars overhead flickered even more brightly. The park was blanketed in quiet, the pitch, and the courts, and the fields deserted, the grass cool and sweet at his feet. He sat himself next to the spot where Sam had fallen, lowering himself until he lay next to the place where she had lain. Stretching his long legs into the turf, Jack folded his arms behind his head and looked up into the black of the sky, half-heartedly counting stars. 

How the hell had his life come to this? How had he come to live this strange half-life--dividing his existence between fighting demons on other planets and wrestling the demons surging within him? How did a guy justify it all--balance it all out? Align the military with the man? Deal with the repercussions of alien viruses and thousand-year-old Gill-Faced guys changing stuff inside your head, while still paying your bills and buying groceries?

There weren’t any answers. No instruction manuals. No help-desks. Just this night, and these stars, and the grass beneath him, and the lingering traces of the woman who seemed to be able to help him make sense of it all. So, for now he’d just stare up at the sky and try to figure out how to live. How to be part of the odd family he’d formed. How to not want more than was allowed or offered. How to take it one day, one step, one second at a time. How to exist normally within the chaotic ridiculousness that his life had become. 

So, for now, he’d lie here and breathe.

And try not to wish that she were there, in the grass, breathing next to him.


End file.
